


No One's Here to Sleep

by Izaura



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Brief Smut, Cheating, M/M, Maybe Connor does do love wow, Suggested Smut, coliver - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4987471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izaura/pseuds/Izaura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two want to be one, but the equation is four.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One's Here to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily based on No One's Here to Sleep by Naughty Boy ft. Bastille, as the title suggests. Characters and song are not mine.

_Every carpet, every floor_   
_Everywhere I look I fall_   
_Climbing up the walls, I’m climbing up the walls_

“Please come over,” Connor mumbled into the phone, the rustles of his boyfriend in the kitchen seeming louder than they should. He felt the heartbeat in his chest turn into a drum, a harsh hit of a hammer rather than just a wooden stick in the form of a beating tempo. “Please. I need to see you.”

“You know I can’t,” came the just as hushed tone, the feedback louder than on his end, which wasn’t saying much, as there was constant yells between the man on the phone and his respective partner. But not yells of sadness, or anger, no; if that was the case, they both knew Oliver would be right back in Connor’s arms.

But now, they were yelling goodbyes of ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you too, yeah, I’ll start breakfast’.

Right. Love. Breakfast, cooking. Both things Connor didn’t do.

“I’m about to—”

“Have breakfast, I know,” Connor cut him off, an exasperated sigh following almost instantly. “Will he be going out any time soon? Paxton just left for work,” he whispered, knowing full well that Oliver’s boyfriend wasn’t going anywhere. Lucky for him, he just _had_ to fall in love with a man whose boyfriend had the opposite shift of his own’s – the night shift. Right when he left, Paxton would be coming back to cook them dinner after such a damn hard day.

And although love wasn’t something Connor could control, cooking was, and it quite selfish of Connor not to do it once in a while, if you’d ask anyone else.

After a long silence (on the phone’s end; Connor could now hear Oliver presumably finishing shaving, as he always used for a cover to have these secret phone calls right under his lover’s own house. And this was a tame one. “This weekend… then. I can see you Saturday; he’s going to visit his brother for that hunting trip. He’ll leave at dawn, be home by 9:00,” he whispered, voice still gruff from sleep and god, did it hurt that Connor could never wake up to that.

This had been going on for months, and he’d not once been greeted to the morning not by sunlight, but by a panning ray of sleepy kisses and baritones that made his chest quiver like it always did when the music at the club he frequented way too much, was way too loud. _Not once_ , not ever. No chance for once in a while.

“Yes. Saturday, please. Be here as early as you can… I need you.”

_What goes on behind these doors_   
_I’ll keep mine and you keep yours_   
_We all have our secrets, we all have our secrets_

Saturday rolled around slower than either would have hoped, but as soon as the door opened, so did the ones in their hearts. Connor immediately proved what he had said earlier that week; he pounced, shoving the other man against the door so their lips could collide and hands could roam.

Because although they had the whole day, he wanted to make the most of it.

And Oliver, well, so did he; but here’s the thing. They were different, oh-so-different. Oliver would be so into kissing Connor as they fucked, moans of ‘oh my god, harder’, spilling into the locking of the lips. They were swollen, like their insides, feeling red hot and burning like they were just about to explode.

But Connor would be so into giving just that. He’d go harder, faster, hips rocking into each other in time with the bed, or the table, or the support of the walls or wherever they decided to take each other that day though always ending up in bliss. But different kinds of bliss, different kinds of melting pleasure.

_Behind every door is a fall, a fall  
And no one’s here to sleep_

Oliver was so invested, and he’d want so bad to pour all of his feelings into that one meeting because only God knows when their next one would be. He would want to kiss during a movie afterwards, before he’d have to shower alone so he could maximize scrubbing the other lover’s kisses, bites, and velvet words off of his skin. He’d peel the burns of his efforts off of him, ready to drive back home just to welcome his real boyfriend back home just to do it all again, massaging his shoulders before heated kisses lulled them both to sleep.

But Connor, well, Connor didn’t do love. He put so much effort in too, but it wasn’t the same; he wanted the gratification of being with Oliver, to make Oliver only think of him, even when the man he went home to pounded relentlessly into him too. He wanted to do just what Oliver would have to get rid of; burn himself into the other man, soak his promises of needing him into the pores of his flesh.

_You were always faster than me_   
_I’ll never catch up with you, with you_   
_Oh I can feel them coming for me (x2)_

Oliver didn’t know how it happened, but soon, he was calling Connor first instead of the distinct other way around. He knew they had set times, a routine planned out, for when their respective lovers were too busy or distracted to notice that it wasn’t their cheating lover’s own bosses calling.

And soon, the calls turned sour.

“I don’t know how you’re able to do this,” he whispered, sitting on the bathroom floor as mist engulfed his quiet puffs of air. He felt like drawing into the mirror, watching the fog disappear just like he wanted this whole situation to. It was such a damn mess, such a cover, just like the water running in the stall. He needed to be quiet. He always needed to be quiet.

“What do you mean?” Connor would reply, the sound of a kiss being planted on someone else’s lips, which only made Oliver’s blood boil hotter than the constant stream of water in the room with him, and a mumbled ‘don’t worry. Annalise just has a new case.’

Oliver sighed. And not in pleasure, like these usual late-night calls ended up in, the slap of water masking the slap of skin-on-skin he imagined as his hand tried to do the trick, Connor’s groans slipping through the phone line urging him on. “You’re always so ready to lie to Paxton. I get you’re sex-crazed—”

“I’m not fucking anyone else but you and him. But I only want you,” Connor grumbled.

Oliver did the same, shaking his head sadly. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, punctuating it with the click of a button, and the shutting of the water. He purposefully left his phone in the washroom, the contact he hadn’t even bothered to name flashing on his screen as it vibrated on the counter with multiple new calls.

Maybe he shouldn’t just hang up the call. Maybe he should just hang up the feelings too. Because Connor _was_ lying to him. And Oliver was lying to him too; _they_ were a lie.

_Here’s the pride before the fall_   
_Oh your eyes they show it all_   
_I can see it coming, I can see it coming_

“You can’t just fucking _show up_ at my goddamn house when you know _full well_ that he’s here, and asleep,” Oliver barked as silently as he could. He was acting like the puppy Connor always knew he was, he thought, in contrast to Oliver’s want – or practical need – to bite the other man’s head off.

They both knew Oliver would follow him to the ends of the earth. And Connor would also do the same, but it was a known fact as well that their only difference was that Connor wouldn’t need the secrecy.

His eyes shone in the light of the moon, the cold breeze making it feel like it was lifting the two up and off Oliver’s boyfriend’s front porch, off to somewhere they could be by themselves. “But I needed to see you. You wouldn’t return my calls, and he was asleep, so I just thought—”

It was then, that locks were clicked open. The doors swung again, like they always seemed to do when Connor was around, and a man stood behind the couple who shouldn’t have even met. “Oliver, who are you talking to?” came the gruff voice, and instead of being laced with sleep, it was laced with rage.

And neither of the two blamed him.

_As I rise up through each floor_   
_Shit gets dark when you lose it all_   
_I can hear it coming, I can hear the drumming_

“Nobody,” Oliver said, whipping around as he shook his head. “A friend. He works for Annalise Keating, and their new case kind of revolves around someone from IT,” he said, gasping for breath as if his boyfriend’s question had materialized into a fist and sucker punched all of the air out of his trembling lungs.

_Behind every door is a fall, a fall  
And no one’s here to sleep_

“Well,” the man responded after a while with a shake of his head. “Those phone calls you try to cover up that I always hear, because I know your moans, Oliver, and that young man’s face seem to disagree. Why don’t you invite him inside? I’m going for an early hunting trip,” he said, despite only going for his _once a year_ trip last week, spinning to presumably collect his things as Oliver’s face twisted into one of even more shock in contrast to Connor’s conflicted one.

The pounding of his heart that always seemed to march in time with Oliver’s made his breath catch in his throat, and he wondered if he should feel excited about such a big mistake, or go home to gulp down the liquor in Paxton’s cabinets in place of Oliver’s wounded breaths as their chests vibrated in moaning unison.

_You were always faster than me_   
_I’ll never catch up with you, with you_   
_Oh I can feel them coming for me (x2)_

It wasn’t hard to figure out which route to take. All it took was a fight between the two lovers who had felt their hearts melt into one many times, all alone.

Which wasn’t entirely true, because Connor was still always there, his moans filling Oliver’s ears as he rode the wave to oblivion as his imagination ran wild. Oliver was never with his boyfriend. Not his mind, not his soul; and as poetic as that sounded, it was the truth. The bass of Connor’s racing heart was something he had memorized just like he had memorized the words to the songs he listened to on a daily basis.

_Oh, oh, oh, ohhh, oh, oh, oh (x4)_

The songs were whirlwinds, ending before he knew it. But this felt like a beginning, the way Oliver’s tears had dried, the dark spots on his sheets only being stains of sweat at the moment as they clung together on the place he had already done so with his own lover.

Although now, that was questionable, as most of the other man’s things had been hastily shoved into a suitcase, before hastily shoved into a car, before so damn hastily pulling out of the driveway with screeching tires and blinding rage because he had ‘always, always known but what this was just wasn’t enough, now was it?’. Oliver had watched the man go, wanting so badly to shove Connor away with the exact same tone, but now, that had changed.

_You were always faster than me_   
_I’ll never catch up with you, with you_   
_Oh I can feel them coming for me (x2)_

So much had. Now they were moaning together like they did every chance they got, but this time it was slow. No longer hurried. Cautious, even, as the thrill of it being _so wrong_ stopped compelling them to wreck themselves in a timeframe they could never expand.

Until now; but there was one thing that hadn’t changed. Not yet.

Connor was still blinded. Broken, even when he shouldn’t be, because it wasn’t him that had just lost his lover. No, that could wait until morning. Because why not postpone the inevitable even longer? He had already halted that earlier that night, though only God knows how much earlier, how deeply instead of how loudly they could make each other moan now being the only thing the two kept track of.

He just knew it’d end the same way, no matter what, because sometimes you need to break something to see past it. Sometimes, something needs to shatter to build back something else. Sometimes, one task needs to cease for another to begin.

Just be careful not to step on the shards.

_(You were always faster than me)_

“I _still_ don’t know how you’re able to do this,” Oliver said, flashes of memories lingering in the air with the echoes of their promises that ‘I’ve needed you so badly, for so long’ hung in the air like smoke. Their bodies lay pressed up against each other’s now, sticky and warm from the thick air that clung to everything in the room like hot condensation.

The young man ran his hand over Connor’s quickly rising and falling chest, the bones protruding against his sliding fingers. Connor did the same to his one lover’s arm as his own was around him, Oliver’s head resting in the crook of his neck. Which was good, he probably couldn’t do the same to the other male’s frail body, for the marks he could finally make littered his skin in no particular purple pattern, and just the effort it took him to smile seemed to make the painful areas tense.

He _almost_ felt bad, for the same reason he could somehow conjure an answer. Because although Connor was always outright ready, and Oliver was always shy inside his own little safe haven that the blunt and charging man had just burst his way into, not even bothering to open the door, they were both running in their own respective ways.

And maybe, just maybe, despite them running in opposite directions, they’d still end up at the same place. And maybe, just maybe, they would both be able to somehow slow down, but still end up at the same place. Where they wanted to be.

Because this was yet another thing that not just Connor, but also Oliver didn’t do. Yet here they were, doing it together, in all the wrong ways, yet in just the right conclusion.

_“(I will always catch up with you)”._


End file.
